Echoes of an Oboe
Listen, my sweet love, can you hear its sound?
It vibrates softly through the woods around.
It makes me wish to hug tight and kiss you
It is no wonder our true love always grew.
The oboe's balmy melody that haunts,
Reminding us of love and all our wants.
Resembling a fine choir richly endowed,
Once heard, not forgotten, though there's no crowd.
But what need have we of people around?
Listen to our love sighs as soft as sound,
Mellifluous melody, varying
From languishing in lento, marrying
Into a crescendo only to tune
A rune in honour of the rising moon.
We make our way to our lonely warm hut
A fine fire is lit and wood crackles but
The echo of the oboe make its way,
Surely fairies wish to have their last say.